To Hell With Him
by Autobot Chromia
Summary: AU where Sarek was not always an Ambassador, and made a terrible decision that cost him his relationship with Amanda and Spock. Now, nineteen years later, a twenty-four year old Spock comes across the man he never knew. Rated 'T' for mild swearing. Based off of a line from a television show. One-shot.


To Hell With Him

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><p>Summary: AU where Sarek was not Ambassador of Vulcan, he had to work his way there over time. He had to prove himself as a Vulcan. Marrying a human, having a half-human child, and then leaving both a few years later didn't exactly prove that.<p>

Now, Spock, twenty-four years of age, runs into the man he never knew. Based off of a _Fresh Prince of Bel-Air_ episode entitles 'Papas Got a New Excuse'. Also based on the line used by both Will and Uncle Phil - "To hell with him!"

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><p>The starship <em>Enterprise<em> was a very busy starship. After carting alien diplomats to and from planets, signing peace treaties, offering assistance to colony planets, and dealing with tribbles, the poor Silver Lady was usually more out of shape than she was after a tussle in deep space with photons and phaser banks.

So, when a Deep Space port came into view, and the engines were heard in every room of the ship just as loudly as they were in Engineering, it was normally time for a shore leave. Space stations were normally rather dull, perhaps a gambling center or cinema along with the usual starship garages and terminals found inside to keep it somewhat entertaining. But, even if there was a sideshow or rumors of a strip-tease hidden deep within the bowels of the Deep Space port, there was always one part of the station that drew all sorts of Starfleet personnel towards it like flys to honey and moths to flame: the cafeteria. Real food, imported from real farms, and prepared by real chefs, were the highlight of anyone's stay at a Deep Space port.

It wasn't surprising, with the _Enterprise_ currently being patched up after the last diplomatic meeting, having lumbered into port like an ill bovine, that the Ten Forward was simply buzzing with a surplus of bodies craving something not reconstructed, calorie restricted, or fat content controlled by a computer. Shirts of all sorts blended and congregated in the great room, red and yellows and golds and blues all seated together to enjoy a meal with friends that was actually as good as their prefered company.

And, it was not at all surprising, in fact, rather cliché, to see a duo of blue shirts contrasted by a gold in a corner of the room so loud each voice seemed to echo over itself repeatedly into oblivion.

Spock took his prefered seat, across from both the Captain and the Chief Surgeon. It was a most logical place to sit. He could see both of the others at the table simultaneously without having to worry about someone next to him bumping him or vice-versa. Sometimes, aboard the ship, the entire Command crew would share a meal together in the mess hall. Even if Uhura and Chekov and Scotty and Sulu had been there, somewhere at the table, Spock would have still been seated across from the Doctor and the Captain. Thankfully, to save his Vulcan eardrums somewhat, three of those people were off doing their own things and Scotty was busy tinkering with the port nacelles.

He turned his attention towards his dinner choice, a pasta made of curly noodles and covered in alfredo sauce and parmesan cheese and all mixed together with an assortment of green vegetables. Jim and McCoy were currently deep in a discussion over preference of sports teams, an either riveting or highly irritating subject between the two as they appeared to be arguing. But, as they argued about the subject every 1 out of 3 conversation, Spock was beginning to believe that they enjoyed the debate.

Spock had never been into sports very much. It was illogical to waste so much time over a team that could do nothing for him except offer entertainment, and he could do even less in return. He speared a piece of broccoli, enjoying the taste of fresh-ish but _real_ food. His eyes skimmed the constantly growing and diminishing, thickening and thinning crowd. At least ninety-one point two percent of the occupants were of the _Enterprise_ crew. The others-

Spock paused, eyes landing on a simple yet familiar robe. He owned one just like it, originating from the demised Vulcan-that-was. It was a plain, everyday robe of brown and black, a traveling hood added to the back and pooled around the other Vulcan's white neck. The Vulcan male wearing the simple clothing was older, yet tell and well-built. And he was staring directly at Spock.

He quickly cut their locked gazes, turning back to face his own table and shifting uncomfortably under the eyes of the other's. He could feel him staring at him. It was a gentle look, perhaps even saddened, but unbreakable and rather odd to have some random stranger staring at you while you ate.

Spock peeked over his shoulder once more before leaning slightly over his plate, voice lowered in the loud room. "Captain, pardon my interruption, but-"

"'Com'mon, you gotta admit that he's a better player than-" Jim paused as Spock spoke, turning away from a flustered McCoy and setting down his fork - an honest to goodness fork that wasn't plastic or both spoon and fork. "What is it? And, for God's sake, it's _Jim_."

"For the duration of our meal, I believe I have caught somebody's interest." Spock stated, voice still lowered. "He is seated alone four rows down and two over."

Jim hummed as he looked over the crowd, McCoy finding the man first. "You mean the kinda creepy Vulcan guy?" the doctor pointed out.

Spock nodded. "He has not stopped watching me since my entering this room."

"Maybe he's some kind of Vulcan cop." Jim suggested with a mischievous grin. "You better just turn yourself in, Spock, it's the only way."

A black eyebrow lifted simultaneously with Dr. McCoy's eye roll. "I can assure you, Captain, I have done nothing wrong."

"So why not just go over there and ask him why he's been staring?" McCoy shrugged, picking up a piece of hot, liberally buttered cornbread with his fingers. "You're in a room filled with highly trained military specialists. I doubt something terribly bad could happen to you."

"I am not concerned for my safety." Spock huffed lightly, pushing back his chair and rising. "Merely... curious."

He left the two humans to finish their meals, one a Southern cliché of fried chicken and the other some kind of folded-over pizza. He crossed the loud room, the air practically buzzing with the chatter and motion and noise three hundred something humans and aliens generated in an enclosed area. Luckily, the older Vulcan was not too far away from his own table, and Spock could feel the much more comfortable gaze of his friends keeping an eye on them as they resumed their conversation.

As Spock neared the single table in the corner of the room, the other Vulcan's features became more apparent. His hair, while still the standard black-brown, was highlighted around his ears with light grey. His tight lips and dark brown eyes were surrounded with aging wrinkles, still rather smooth but the fingers of Age were drawing their marks. And, those deep eyes never left Spock no matter how close he came.

Nearing the lonely table, bare except for an onlined newsPADD and a single cup of cooled tea, Spock took a breath. "Pardon me," he started, "but I was wondering if I could be of any assistance."

The older Vulcan paused, not a single emotion moving his still face as his neck turned to observe the Starfleet member better. He remained seated, quietly reflecting on the younger man, before shaking his head. "I do not require anything at the moment, son."

It was a simple word, used frequently with both relations of that title and as a term of endearment. Admiral Pike, before dying in the explosion caused by the madman Khan, had called both Jim and Spock _son_ when the time felt right to him. After the destruction of Vulcan-that-was, several young boys that had been injured and rescued aboard the starship had been soothed with the word by crew members and Dr. McCoy alike. It was only a word, a consonant followed by a single vowel and another consonant.

The word seemed to loose its sounds as it finally registered with Spock's mind, the room's loud chatter becoming a low droning as the room moved on its own. Talking rose and fell as tables went past him, his chair not coming fast enough yet all too quickly as he sat down heavily. Too heavily, it seemed, as it startled both Jim and Leonard.

"Spock?" Jim started, eyes darting towards the doctor a moment before returning to the hybrid. "What happened? Was he really a cop?"

For a moment, he could only stare at the cold, unappetizing plate he had left behind just moment ago. He slowly shook his head, swallowing against the large lump that seemed to have formed behind his Adam's apple. "No, Jim," he scoffed, the huff sounding too breathy and gasped even to his own ears, "he was my father."

Silence fell, if only on the little table occupied by the three men. The room still buzzed on like a hive of gossiping bees, and the lonely Vulcan a few rows down continued to watch. McCoy placed a hand on the table, clenching it into a fist a moment later.

"You mean the same guy that left both you and your mother high and dry when you were a kid?" he asked sharply, sending his own withering glare at the staring Vulcan. It seemed to break the other man's concentration, and he looked towards his own tabletop.

"Bones." Jim hissed warningly, "don't-"

"What the hell does he think he's doing here?" McCoy demanded.

Spock shook his head again. "I am uncertain to his motives. It may be only coincidence."

McCoy snorted. "It better damned well be. Tell me, when was the last time you saw him again?"

A heavy pause punctuated the space between the doctor's and Spock's own words. "Nineteen years ago." Spock replied lowly, eyes on a deep scratch on the table he hadn't noticed before. He inserted his fingernail, picking at it. "I was five years of age."

The doctor bobbed his head, waving his hand for more information and ignoring Jim's scorching gaze. "And how often did you hear from him all that time? How many birthday cards or phone calls or child support did you get while he was gone?"

Spock's head lowered further, fingers stilling as even the distracting scratch didn't help. "He never sent any kind of word or message."

"Hey," Jim's voice broke in as McCoy took a breath, "lay off a little, would you? His dad's a douche, my step-father was a douche and my mother was a bitch; your dad died and my biological father died. So our parents are all kinds of screwed up. Give him a little space to think, alrigh'?" Looking satisfied as McCoy withdrew disgruntledly, he turned to Spock with his large, curious eyes. "Well? What are ya gonna do?"

Lifting his eyes in what could only be called a roll, Spock was saved from asking as the spoken of Vulcan seemed to materialize by their table, gentle yet prying eyes darting over the table's three occupants.

"Spock," Sarek started, eyes till on Jim and McCoy as he was met with distasteful looks and glares, "I am uncertain how long your stay on this starbase will be, or what type of plans you have already made."

"What is the reason for your inquiry?" the younger Vulcan replied, face turned away and looking at a suddenly interesting discoloration of the wall next to Jim's neck.

"Perhaps," Sarek explained carefully, well aware just how thin and cracked and imperfect the eggshells he tred were, "if there is time, we might meet again."

Without looking towards the left and having to look at Jim, or towards the right and having to look at the doctor, or towards the person addressing him, Spock rubbed his fingers beneath the table, fiddling out of sight. "I have free time later this evening." he stated calmly, a calm he most certainly didn't feel deep in his hammering side or the rush in his ears. "Would not your coming aboard the ship be an easier alternative than meeting on starbase? It would be quieter."

"Your logic is sound." Sarek replied, giving a single bow of his head in the positive. "Unless there are concerns with your captain about my presence-"

"Oh," McCoy snorted harshly, "there's concerns all right."

Jim lifted a hand, somehow managing to silence the doctor before he could continue on. Southern charm paled in comparison to Southern wrath. "That's fine with me. I mean, this is really between you and Spock, so..." he shrugged casually,"whatever you guys decide should probably be fine. I trust Spock." _You, on the other hand..._

Spock, and thankfully the doctor, did not add anything more. As awkward silence began to nest comfortably amongst the four men, Sarek gave another single nod and cleared his throat. "Very well. Gentlemen." He gave a light bow towards the two seated together before turning to the third and pausing, gently speaking, "I will see you then, son."

"Sarek." Spock acknowledged briefly, all but breathing out in relief as the quiet pads of Vulcan feet clicked away and melded with the hubbub of the crowd. He kept his head down, focusing as entirely as he could on the now cold plate of pasta he had abandoned, the alfredo sauce congealed and the twisty noodles stuck together. It was evident the doctor wished to pry more, digging into Vulcan business seemed to be both a habit and a talent of his. By some cosmic chance, and perhaps a very harsh pinch on the doctor's thigh, the conversation turned back to sports, and attention was forced on the meals in front of them.

Spock, however, could not manage to eat another bite.

* * *

><p>What if he had been stood up? It wasn't as if he hadn't been walked out on before. It was actually rather expected, so why should he be surprised? It was five past twenty-one-hundred hours, the designated time of their meeting. They had spoken only briefly over their PADDs, just making arrangements to meet in the Rec. room for a rather necessary talk.<p>

Spock's internal chronometer ticked away another minute, the seconds rushing by, the nanosecs barely calculable. It had been foolish of him to get his hopes up, very human yet so very hard to control. He had not intended to become excited or wistful, schooling his outward features into everyday nonchalance. He had waited for this moment for so long, most of his life, and had never realized how much he had yearned for this contact until now, when it was again being withheld from him.

Another minute passed, and Spock rose to retreat to his quarters. The moment his rear left the seat, however, the door slid open to the sparsely filled Rec. room and in entered the late man of the hour. Already risen, Spock stood in place as Sarek neared.

"My son," Sarek started, already his tone laced with excuses, "I beg pardon for my tardiness. I wan not aware that this ship contained more than one recreational hall. I had waited at our designated time in what I was told was room two, not three."

His message flashed in his head, his eidetic memory lifting the quick email he had sent and bringing it to the front of his mind. How could he have been so foolish? Here he had been, accusing this Vulcan of something he had not done, and all because of folly and haste on his end. He should have been more specific in his directions.

"My apologies." Spock murmured, head lowered as he focused on the tight, embroidered stitches holding the robe about the older Vulcan's body. "The fault was my own."

"There is no offence where none is taken." Sarek replied kindly, forcing Spock to meet his soft, gentle eyes with only his voice. "My son," a single breath broke his words apart, "there is much we need to talk about."

Agreeing, Spock numbly nodded. "Perhaps you would prefer an even quieter setting?" he suggested, unsure if the sudden surge rushing through his body and muffling his ears was procrastination of what was yet to come or an actual desire for a more private location.

Sarek's own hesitance seemed to mirror Spock, both desiring to explain himself yet not wanting to at the same time. "That would be most wise." he stated, standing still for Spock to lead.

Spock swallowed, trying to remember just where that nice, quiet spot he often retreated to when lonely or in need of meditation outside of his room. "One of the lower observation decks." Spock heard himself saying, never quite feeling his lips form the words. "It is not far from here and should be quite solitary."

A loud, feminine squeal sounded from the opposite side of the room, a blue-skirted woman smiling as friends decked in red and yellow and blue crowded about her. A small bundle rested contentedly in her arms, an unmistakenble sound rising up from the blankets at the loud noise the human females generated. As the baby cried, the mother quickly cooing and trying to hush it, a man in blue shirt and black pants seemed to wrap his arms about her and relieve her of the small baby.

Spock paused, halfway out the door, and took in the look on the father's face. He knew these two crew members, the woman was in on the medical team while the man worked in the labs with him. Angela and Robert had been married by the captain over a year ago, the baby a new addition to the small family just last month. It had been quite difficult the first two weeks after the birth to get any kind of work done around Robert, the man either chattering about his newborn son or showing off pictures. It was evident that _fond_ was much too week a word to use for that odd look in Robert's eyes, an untainted father's love gushing forth from his every pore and onto the unsuspecting, sleeping bundle in his arms.

A soft breath behind him startled Spock from his observation, turning around to face the man who had donated half himself to make a hybrid child. He, too, had been looking at the young couple. "I remember when you were that small, once." Sarek spoke lowly, still watching as the soft, tender cheek of the baby was stroked by his father. "I held you much the same way. At times, it felt as if I could never put you down."

The innocent portrait of the young couple and, more importantly, the baby, was suddenly soured in Spock's mind. He turned away once more, stepping away to lead. "Then why did you?"

He didn't expect an answer, and in fact would have been more content to have the door close behind him, and Sarek shut inside. Instead, the quiet padding of Sarek walking behind him sounded up the hall as Spock hurried across the floor. The door to the little used Observation Deck Four couldn't come soon enough, and was thankfully void of any kind of personnel other than Spock and the Vulcan behind him.

The observation window had been left open. A rather foolish action, as it made for weaker shielding should the need for shielding arise. The glass, while immensely thick and mixed with other ores, was still more fragile than the regular hull and metal shell that wrapped about the _Enterprise_.

As always, the view outside was dark. Not the mere blackness of night, but the gaping jaws of Death and isolation, the nearest star so distant that it appeared no more than a speck on the nonexistent horizon. It was not the normal, breathtaking view normally present when the ship was in motion and in warp speed. The stars would wizz by at speeds faster than light, blending the stars together into a blurred nebula that skipped about like some kind of foreign, traditional dance that only the stars themselves would ever know about. No scientists' instrument could ever pick up on the splendid rhythm the stars heard, or perhaps made themselves. The music would forever fall on deaf hears, except maybe a passing cloud nebula tuned into the right station.

But, if Spock listened hard enough, maybe he could procrastinate just a little longer.

"My son," Sarek spoke from a lightly cushioned, bench-like couch, "you deserve an explanation."

It was a beckon for him to go and take a seat next to the other Vulcan. "No." he said aloud, meaning both the explanation and the offering of a seat. He faced the black window, feeling smaller than he ever had before the great spances of endless space, and the mystery he was not sure he could face behind him. Being swallowed be all eternity seemed like a much simpler and less frightening task.

"Spock," Sarek started again, but Spock did not face him, "it was not right what I did to you and your mother. I...I was young and most foolish. And," Sarek paused, so long Spock almost turned around, but didn't, "and I was a coward."

His lips felt as if he had not drank in weeks, his mouth stuffed with cotton, and his throat scratched by metal shavings. Of all the questions he had ever wanted to ask the one man sitting right there, openly answering anything, he could only croak one word. "Why?"

Spock did turn as Sarek's voice dipped, the elder Vulcan's head lowered and his eyes concentrating on his hands folded limply in his lap. "I went against much of our clan's wishes when I took your mother as my wife. What I found logical they did not, but I went against them anyways. For the first several years of our life, we were alone and without any kind of help. And then you came along, and, for awhile, I had thought I'd found my place."

"But it wasn't." Spock said darkly, looking back towards the open mouth of blackness. "You left."

Sarek's hands and body remained still under the harshly stated words, but minute twitches in his fingers showed he was far from unaffected. "It was a terrible mistake on my part, son, and one I shall never forgive. I was raised and bred to follow in my own father's - your Grandfather Skon's - footsteps and take his place on Ambassador. Obviously, I did not, and created my own path of turning to Earth and studying astrophysics. I met your mother there, so terms were not exactly the greatest when I returned home many years after leaving with, not only my known human wife, but a half-human son. The Clan Mother was most displeased, and threatened to break all connections with us. You were only three then."

"I was five when you left." Spock stated the fact like one would the definition of a word from a dictionary.

"Yes." Sarek gave a small nod of agreement. "We returned to earth for some time, but we were not well received there, either. A terrorist group called Earth First was especially against your mother and my bonding, and especially of your birth. We were attacked by both sides, Spock, with almost nowhere left to go. I began to feel trapped and afraid, and shame soon followed for lack of control over my emotions. My logic became skewed, and after years of anxiety, it appeared the only option left for me was to leave it all behind and start anew. I-" Sarek swallowed, taking a breath, "I left during the night, breaking the marriage bond between myself and your mother, and the parental bond I owned with you. I had returned to Shir'Kar to begin again, only for Clan Mother to recognize the cowardice of my choices. And rightfully so."

Sarek's voice had been close to breaking the further he explained, and he fell silent once he was finished. Spock could only stand there, stupefied, as his mind tried to make sense of everything.

"Where have you been all this time?" he demanded in a voice that held only total submission. "And how did you know where to find me?"

"I was not immediately received back into the Clan." Sarek answered quietly. "I have been working hard to try to regain my proper place, and take the path originally set for me. It has not been an easy road to follow, and I have only just begin to make something of myself."

"You could have called." Spock said, back turned and eyes closed to the blackness all around. "You could have sent a message, or even a single word of your whereabouts. You could have done _something_. I...I do not remember much of when you were with us, only that you were there, and then you were not. Mother worked hard to support us all that time, to put me through school, and offer financial assistance during my time at the Academy. "

"I know." The words were soft, the quiet murmurs of one ashamed of their actions and knowing the didn't deserve anything but endless hate in return. "I spoke with your mother three months before the end of Vulcan-that-was. That is how I came to learn you were enrolled in Starfleet. It was not by complete chance that I happened upon you early today. I have been trying to find you at one of the spaceports, hoping that my own work might cross with yours one day."

Spock did not answer. He had not known of his mother's communications with Sarek at all after he had left. She had never told him.

Behind him, the soft rustling of Sarek's robes shuffled as he shifted. "Spock, I know that I do not deserve a second chance. I only ask that you do not judge me too quickly. I would like to try to fix what I have done between you and me. I have missed much in your life, but I would like to remedy that as best I can."

"And how do you suggest that?" Spock demanded sharply, turning away from the window once and for all. "You cannot turn back time and begin again. It is too late."

"I understand that, Spock," Sarek replied, rising to his feet and clasping his hands behind his back, "more than you can ever understand. I have changed, Spock; matured. I desire to only try to form some kind of relationship between you and myself. If not as father and son, then only relatives or comrades."

Shaking his head, Spock's hands became loose fists at his sides. "I do not know."

"At least give me time to prove myself." Sarek asked, voice as close to pleading or begging as any pure Vulcan ever had. "For the duration of your time on this starbase, allow me to spend a little of that time with you."

"That is all you ask?"

Sarek gave a single nod. "Yes."

Sighing, Spock looked towards the worn flooring. He should be feeling so much, but instead he felt numb. As numb as one's hand after it has gripped ice for a longer than necessary time. He could not bring himself to look up at the Vulcan waiting patiently for his answer, neither demanding nor pleading shamefully, only asking he be considered.

"Are you... free early tomorrow evening?" Spock asked, his voice far away to his own ears.

"I have nothing at all to bind my time." Sarek replied. "I am at your disposal."

Spock gave another breath. "I will... give you a chance while we are at dock. I cannot, however, promise anything."

"Do not expect you to." Sarek said. "I will see you tomorrow, son."

"Sarek." Spock acknowledged, the six-lettered 'F' word too strong and too bitter on his lips. He watched the doors swish closed behind the long Vulcan robes, standing there a moment before creeping to the cushioned bench and closing his eyes. Maybe meditation would be better achieved here than in his quarters. The thin cushion was still warm from where Sarek had sat, and Spock tried to ignore the weak bond niggling in the deepest parts of his mind, broken yet still able to grow under the proper circumstances, like the cutting of a tree.

* * *

><p>The previous evening had been... uncomfortable. But, even that was not quite the right word. The light dinner Spock had shared with Sarek had been rather pleasant, only awkward. Neither knew what to say, and anything spoken seemed to be the wrong thing.<p>

For example, Sarek had commented on Spock's height, inquiring just when he had hit his growth spurts. Perhaps it had been a rhetoric question, but to a Vulcan nothing was rhetoric, and Spock had answered literally, able to give the exact two stardates between start and stop of main growth bursts.

He was in his room, going over PADDs, when the door to the fresher was knocked on and slid away without a call to enter. Spock didn't look up from his work, knowing good and well who it was. Jim, while sometimes knocking, never waited for an invitation or simply entered regardless of the answer. He heard the light creaking of the bed as Jim flopped down at the end of it, Spock content to sit at the desk.

"How'd it go the other night?" Jim asked immediately, the bed continuing to creak rhythmically as he bounced. "I was going to wait up so we could talk, but you came back pretty late, mister." he teased.

"Vulcans require less sleep than humans." Spock replied, finger scrolling down the report. "And, I am free to do as I desire in my off periods. I am breaking no laws or regulations in speaking or sharing a meal with Sarek."

Jim lifted his hands in surrender as Spock turned to face him. "Hey, not faulting you, just saying." Spock waited a moment for Jim to finish, but the human did not, instead continuing under a new train of thought. "So, you doing all right?"

"Why would I not be, Captain?" Spock asked, breathing lightly as the blonde's warning look. "_Jim_."

Satisfied, Jim shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, the dad that left when you were a little kid just pops out of nowhere, you've been spending every available minute with him since meeting him two days ago, and doing little else besides work. If I were in your shoes, I'd be a pretty emotional mess."

"Vulcans do not show emotions." Spock pointed out decisively. "And, as you stated, you are not in my place."

"Geez," Jim rolled his eyes, "didn't mean to put you on the defence. Just trying to talk, is all." He slapped his thighs as he rose. "I can tell you don't want me here. I won't hold you up anymore, Spock. Enjoy your evening with your dad, or Sarek, whatever you call him. I don't think you've called him dad or anything like that at all this whole time..."

"What I call Sarek is none of your concern. I request that you mind to your own business, and leave me to my own" Spock snapped out, not even bothering to stop Jim as he sulked towards the door. Perhaps it was the harshness in his tone that halted the human in his steps. Maybe it was simply the way he had worded his thoughts, accusingly and defiantly.

For whatever reason, Jim stopped, and paused with the bathroom door wide open, his back washed with white light. "Look, I just want you to be careful, alright? I know it's only been a few days, and your work is still as admirable as always, but... it's almost like you're becoming obsessed. Wait," he lifted a hand as Spock inhaled to reply, "lemme finish. If I _were_ in your place, I'd probably want to spend as much time as I had with my dad, too. My real dad, the one that died. But, I still don't know him, I'd still be careful. Sarek's walked out on you once before. I just... just don't want to see you hurt."

The words on the white screen of the PADD Spock stared at burned his eyes and blurred. He didn't reply. He wasn't becoming obsessed, it was only a few hours each night. Of course, Spock only had a few hours of off time if he wanted to keep a healthy balance of rest and meditation as well, but he was still fulfilling every mandatory requirement set for himself. He ate, he worked, and he rested adequately enough. His mind was healthy, not latching on to this Vulcan like the flying leeches of Omivera VII. He was... only captivated. A young child admiring his father, or at least searching for something admirable to imitate.

He almost didn't hear the fresher door closing as Jim retreated, but started as a knock on his quarter's door drew him away from the PADD he had been staring at. It opened to reveal the awaited Sarek, having been asked to meet him via email early that day. Spock wordlessly stepped aside, allowing Sarek passage into the bedroom.

Spock turned away to put the PADD in a drawer, allowing Sarek time to observe the rather smallish quarters. Jim's accusation of his obsession echoed in his mind, and the drawer he pushed closed with more force than was necessary.

"There is something troubling you, Spock." Sarek spoke. "You are brooding."

"Vulcans do not brood." Spock stated, much as he had with Jim, and turned away from the desk. He caught Sarek's eyes, always seeking and searching and watching, and broke the contact.

Sarek shook his head in agreement. "Typically, Vulcans do not, but your mother did. I could always tell when she was upset by the look in her eyes, and you inherited that aspect of her."

"It is nothing." Spock brushed it aside with all the care of the average human teenager. "It was a personal matter resolved moments before you came." His own eyes darted over the clean room, feeling inadequate in some way. "Is there any preference to you on choice of an activity?"

"No." Sarek replied, his eyes not as emotional as a human's or a half-human's, but still displaying the discomfort of the enclosed room. "And you?"

Spock shook his head. For once, his mind was not a whirlwind of thoughts and ideas, and instead completely blank. He was still shocked at his ability to breathe with how empty and stupid his mind felt. Sarek looked about the room once more, eyes falling on a metallic mess tucked neatly away on the corner of the desk Spock had risen from. He crossed the room, gently laying a finger on one of the entwined metal bits.

"You own a _kal-toh _set." he said aloud, nicking one of the pieces and rattling the entire ball. "Have you completed it, yet?"

Heat rushed through Spock's face and towards the tips of his ears, blood pooling in his neck until all blushed a light green. "I have not." he admitted. Through no fault of his own, he had not been able to complete the supposedly simple game Jim refered to as a bar game on crack. While Spock did not quite understand the reference, an example of the 'bar game' was presented to him one late evening with nothing to do. There were multiple games, all made of metal, and each with the same objective of either releasing a ring stuck between metal poles, or a ball stuck between metal rods. Those were simple, Vulcan _kal-toh_ was not.

Spock's face heated more at the light twitch at the corners of Sarek's lips. "_Kal-toh_ is a most difficult game. Your mother tried numerous times to succeed, but only finished if I assisted her. When I was your age, I held the record for fastest completion of a _kal-toh_." As he was met with a raised eyebrow, his lips twitched again. "You do not believe me?"

"I have no proof." Spock replied easily. "And, with records of such small things destroyed, I have no way of researching your claim."

"Would visible proof not be more logical?" Sarek suggested, gently lifting the rather large piece up and holding it by the reddish base with both hands. The metal jumble resembled a silver, squished tumbleweed, and it weaved as it was moved.

"It would." Spock agreed warily. "I have seen images of completed _kal-toh_, and the finished product is quite large. I fear my desk will not compensate."

Sarek observed the desk with little scrutiny. "_Kal-toh_ not as large as you think. But, your desk is not large enough for the both of us to work on it. Perhaps in the Recreational hall?"

Spock agreed, and soon the two Vulcans were seated before a small table in Rec. room three, a single chair on each side and the _kal-toh_ between them. Such an odd sight, and such an odd game set was sure to bring about gawkers, but the observers kept their distance. The closest was on a couch talking with another person a few feet behind Sarek, sparing the two a glance every now and then.

"The objective of the game is not about striving for balance." Sarek explained carefully as he used barely the tips of his fingers to lifts a single rod. Others were connected to it by small, bendable joints, and lifted like a game of Barrel of Monkeys. "But, instead about finding the seeds of order even in the midst of profound chaos." As he spoke, the bunched pile of rods grew. "While logic is helpful, instinct is just as intuitive at times. There must be a balance between the two for total harmony. There is no exact formula to accomplish _kal-toh_, but yanking the rods randomly only causes more disorder." The growing shape stopped germinating as Sarek's hands stilled. "Your mother usually reverted to the latter."

Spock's face greened again. He pushed aside the embarrassment, watching as Sarek's fingers carefully pulled and bent the joints of the _t'an _rods into place. "My Captain once tried to play. He made several references to other earth games while trying to succeed. One of them was calling it a 'very difficult Vulcan chess.'"

Sarek snorted, his hands continuing on as if there had been no disturbance. "_Kal-toh_ is to chess as chess is to Tic-Tac-Toe."

Trying to lift an eyebrow, his forehead became paralyzed as Sarek leaned back and rested his hands on his lap. The _kal-toh_ board was no longer the original mess it had been, instead a moderately sized sphere of multiple dimensions. The inside was flatter, the outline of a square, and budded from there into a large, intricate circle stretching out in every direction. An icosidodecahedron.

"It is completed." Spock said lowly, looking over the balancing set. He used both of his hands to slowly turn the base, each rod barely in place yet holding everything together.

"Hey." a voice turned Spock, very carefully, away from the game and to a blue shirted man behind. It was Robert, the father with the baby. "I don't mean to interrupt you, but I've seen that game before. It's really frickin' hard." He jabbed a thumb at the opposite side of the table. "Who is this guy?"

"This is S-" Spock paused, glancing away from Robert. His eyes locked with Sarek's, able to hold the gaze without discomfort or shame. He looked away out of politeness to the other guest. "That is my father."

The human clasped Spock's shoulder, unaware of any malice between the two Vulcans beforehand, and nodded. "Well, anyways, congrats on the game."

Robert left, leaving Spock and Sarek alone once again. The silence was comfortable, the bond poking the back of Spock's head feeling stronger. Sarek wrapped his hands around the base of the _kal-toh_, turning it back to its original position. "That was not quite as fast as I used to be." he stated, breaking the silence.

Spock could only lift his now unparalyzed eyebrow. "Indeed?"

Giving a nod, Sarek flicked a single rod, collapsing the entire set into the original mangle it had been. An action so small, yet causing so much destruction. "I had said we would work on it together, and now that you have seen how it is completed..." Sarek gestured towards the metallic knots waiting to be undone.

Spock breathed out, rubbing his fingers together once before reaching forward and carefully untugging a _t'an_. Moments later, Sarek's hands joined the mess, and lifted a whole row of _t'an_ up and away from the board. The work was much slower, frequently knocked down by a small mistake or unbalance, but the _kal-toh_ began to take shape hours later and into the night.

* * *

><p>It was day three. It had been announced that tomorrow they would leave dock and continue their mission. It would be the last day Spock would be able to spend with his father. It <em>would<em> have, had he not been currently waiting outside the Captain's Ready Room waiting for entrance. He could faintly pick up the sound of a second voice, Dr. McCoy's if he wasn't mistaken. He could only be sure after entering.

The call came, and Spock stepped into the spacious room, divided horizontally by a desk. His assumption had been correct, and Dr. McCoy was there, standing and talking with Jim about some kind of inventory list.

"Spock," Jim smiled as the door closed, "thank God it's you. Will you _please_ explain to the hypo-phile over here that we don't need a shipwide vaccination spree of mud flea vaccines?"

McCoy scoffed, huffing even deeper as Spock answered incredulously. "Doctor, mud fleas are only native to particular habitats, the exacts making up only .064 percent of the known galaxy."

"You see there," McCoy pointed at Spock while looking at Jim, "he says there _is _a chance of some idiot getting them."

"On the contrary," Spock interjected, "the information is rather negative to your hypothesis and conclusion, doctor. Besides, I did not come here to argue statistics."

Jim planted a fist on his cheek, propping his elbow on the desk. "So, what did you come to argue about?"

"I did not come to argue anything." Spock sighed, hesitating only a minute. "I came to ask for extended shore leave."

The silence was as palpable and thick as Jell-O that did not have enough water. Jim's hand fell away from his face, the playful smile on his lips and the mischief in his eyes slipping away. While McCoy's outward appearance did not change much, he became unusually quiet.

"I can assure you, Captain, I have accumulated enough time to-"

"Spock," Jim waved him away, shaking his head, "you have enough leave to go away the entire year with pay. That's because you don't _take_ vacation days."

"I desire to now." Spock clarified, schooling his temper for a professionalism more suited a Vulcan.

"Why, and for what reasons?" Jim asked blandly, the indifference only in his voice.

Spock took another breath. "My father has invited me to accompany me on his travels for a brief time, no longer than a human summer. We both agree than three days is not long enough to get to know someone, and both desire to fix what has happened."

"You can't fix Sarek leaving ya as a kid." McCoy grumbled.

"I was referring more to our relationship." Spock clarified. "It would only be for a few months, Captain. I cannot give an exact time, but no more than approximately three months."

Jim scoffed, a humorless smile curling his lips. "Just three months? That's _all_." he rolled his eyes.

"Well, now," McCoy started sheepishly, "it wouldn't be the longest vacation ever spent by Starfleet. I was gone for four months that one time to help out on that colony planet. If I were Sarek and Spock were my Jo, I'd want the same thing."

"I thought you were on my side." Jim's blue eyes flashed.

"I'm not on any side." Bones retaliated. "I'm only callin' it as I see it."

"He barely knows the guy!" Jim exclaimed, a hand extended to Spock as he shouted. "He's had, what, a dinner with him that one night and a game the other? That's not exactly in-depth stuff, there."

Apparently tired of being refered to in the third person, Spock piped up, "My father is now an Ambassador, and his travels are directed by both the 'Fleet and New Vulcan. My whereabouts would always be known to you."

"You're a grown-ass adult, Spock." McCoy argued, eyes locked in glare with Jim. "The _Captain_ doesn't need to baby-sit ya."

"I don't want him going!" Jim finally burst out, turning from McCoy to the third person still being ignored. "I need you on the ship, it'll be a hassle trying to find you a replacement during that time, and I'm the damn Captain."

"I am not resigning, _Captain_." Never had the title held so much contempt. "I am only asking for an amount of time off-ship. It is not an unreasonable amount of time, and there _is_ a chain of command to pick up where higher-ups cannot."

"So I'm just a selfish bastard." Jim stated coldly, as cold as the sharp ice in his eyes burning holes through Spock's heart - if his heart were in a human place, that is. "Is that what you're telling me?"

Spock's nostrils flared, his head back. "I have said nothing of the sort. But, you are not the highest link in the chain. There are Admirals I can post my request to who will answer it unbiased."

"_Fine_." Jim snapped. "Ya know what? If you wants to go on some stupid road-trip, fine. I'll sign whatever the hell I need to sign for that. _But_, no longer than two months. I don't care where the hell that leaves you, I'm not allowing anything longer than that." He shoved back his chair, getting up. "I'll go find the fucking report." he muttered, shoving past Spock and leaving his own office.

The door closed, a throat cleared, and Spock turned. "He's just jealous." McCoy stated, leaning against the corner of the desk. "He'll get over it. He's just upset because he never got to know his father, and his step-father was an asshole."

"I have little memories of my father before he left." Spock said lowly. "And what I do remember is not the best to judge one's entire character off."

McCoy lifted a hand. "I'm not faulting you for anything, Spock. In fact, this is probably that one exception where I actually agree with you. If you want to spend two or three months in a shuttlecraft or bouncing between planets to spend time with the father you never got to know, that's your business." He stated. "But, Jim's right, too. You don't know Sarek well. Through no fault of your own," he added quickly, as pre-heated Vulcan wrath began to direct his way, "but you should be careful. Take things slow, and use that damned logic you're so fond of. Alrigh'?"

Spock gave a quiet nod. "Of course."

"And..." McCoy's voice lowered as he hung his head and rubbed his thumb against his palm, "and a message every so often wouldn't hurt, either. Now," he said, "you should probably go and start packing. You don't have a lot of time left if we're taking off tomorrow."

A second nod answered the doctor, and both exited and went separate ways.

* * *

><p><em>"I apologize that I will not be able to meet with your tonight<em>._"_ his voice was clear through the patched through intercom. to Spock's quarters. _"There is much to prepare for, and arrangements to be made."_

"I understand, Father." Spock replied, seated on the end of his bed and the comm. on the nightstand. His travel case lay open beside him, and piles of clothes and personal belongings were either neatly packed or strewn about. "We are still to meet at the designated time tomorrow, though, correct?"

_"Affirmative."_ came the tinny reply._ "Spock, I must terminate the use of this communicator and allow you to finish your packing, and I must return to my own. I will see you tomorrow, son."_

The link broke, ending with a click similar to an ancient phone receiver being hung up. Quickly rising to his feet, Spock picked up a pile of set aside clothing and began to fold it. He did not have much civilian clothing, mainly black pants and black shirts used as underclothes or fall-back uniforms, and only one Vulcan robe that wasn't used for rare, special occasions. He packed the special occasions one as well, uncertain to which would be fully appropriate. Thermals would most defiantly be needed, long underwear and socks a must. His PADD would have to go, to keep up his promise to McCoy of messaging. Perhaps his lyre would come as well, depending on the room he had left. And, of course, the _kal-tor _piece.

So engrossed in his work, he would have missed a quiet rapping at the fresher-unit door had he been human. But, since human chromosomes sullied only half of his gene pool, his Vulcan hearing was able to compensate. Instead of answering, he ignored the knock.

And, just as he ignored the knock, the knocker ignored any reply that might have come. The soft thunking of boots padded across the thin rug, stopping right behind him. Spock didn't pay him any mind, neatly placing in the pair of pants and reaching for a shirt.

"You're really going through with this," the voice was as quiet as his footsteps and knock had been, "aren't you?"

"I am." Spock replied coldly, sighing softer than human hearing would allow, and turned. "Captai- Jim," he started, "I do not wish to embark on a trip to remedy one relationship only to return and try to fix another."

"I overreacted." Jim stated, head lowered. "Or, at least, Bones says I did." A sheepish grin that didn't reach his eyes stretched across his face. "If you can forgive me, can we just put all this behind us?" He stretched out his hand. "I know Vulcans don't do touching, but-"

"Extreme times," Spock started, carefully reaching forwards and gripping the extended hand, "call for extreme measures."

Jim's smile, while not entirely happy, finally leaked some friendship back into the corners of his eyes. Sorrow still laced his irises, and lonesomeness his pupils. "I finished all the paperwork for your leave with Sarek. I put you down for three and a half months."

"But, Jim, you said-"

"Yeah, yeah," Jim waved him off, grabbing up a pair of socks to help the Vulcan pack, "I know what I said. I was being a little selfish then, but we really do need you on the ship."

"The time is more then sufficient." Spock promised, taking the socks out of the corner Jim had shoved them in and stuffed them inside a spare pair of shoes. He closed the top, the edges sealing shut, and the coded lock engaged.

Jim eyed the small case of luggage suspiciously. "Is that all you're taking?"

"Of course not." Spock replied. "I was, however, going to return to the starbase for another travel case. That is the only one I own, at the moment."

"You don't have to beam down." Jim started. "I know I have a spare suitcase somewhere in my closet. I'm not going to need it, so you might as well borrow it now. You know what?" Jim started, quickly heading towards the door before Spock could object, "I'll go grab it now."

He hurried through the fresher unit into his own room, both bathroom doors automatically shutting with a hiss behind him. He threw open the manual closet, digging about the odds and ends and dirty clothes he should have sent to Cleaning weeks ago. Good Lord, his closet smelled like a whole gym locker room, all sweat and dirty socks. He peeked under the bed, having no luck in the closet, and behind the nightstand, just in case.

Jim hummed, scratching the back of his head as he turned about the room, looking about superficially. Where had he put that travel case? The last time he had used it himself was when he gathered all he belonged into it and onto the _Enterprise_ Day 1 of the Five-Year Mission, and the other time-

"_Bones_." Jim hummed to himself, snapping his fingers in remembrance. He had lent the case to McCoy that time he had gone to lend a hand on the colony planet. McCoy probably still had it. A quick call to sickbay to get the good doctor's attention, some arguing about how Jim could do it himself but he didn't want to, besides McCoy was closer to his own quarters than Jim was at the moment, and the com. shut off, Jim turned around and nearly jumped clean out of his panties. (Very manly panties, mind you.)

With his hands clasped behind his back, Sarek stood before him. "Please pardon the intrusion, Captain, but I must speak with you."

"Holy _shit_." Jim hissed, his heart both hammering in his chest and jumping into his throat. "How the hell did you get in here?"

"Captain," Sarek stepped forward, "please, I must ask you a favor. It is of utmost importance."

"Uh-huh." Jim hummed, one part of him hovering over the com. link, tuning to security, and the other part interested in what a Vulcan would have to say that demanded he break into a Starfleet officer's quarters. "What's so important."

Reclasping his hands behind his back, Sarek retreated a step away. "Captain Kirk, I have only just received a message from my own commanders and Elders of a very important assignment I must undertake. It is quite far, and I must leave at once."

The heart that had been in Jim's throat sank into his stomach and lower. A feeling of dread overtook him, but he collected himself for a rather convincing facade of calm. "Oh, that's too bad. I guess Spock and I won't get to play that final game of chess tonight we had planned. I'll just go get him for you-"

"No!" Sarek exclaimed, apparently more uneasy than Kirk was. "I mean, Captain, I am here now to tell you that Spock cannot accompany me. It was a very large delegation I must attend, and there is no time for him to compensate."

Jim cocked his head to the side. "Really? I mean, he's right across the bathroom. I could just go in and grab him-"

"Please." Sarek shook his head. "There is not-"

The door swished open, this time seen and heard by Jim. Bones pulled behind him a large suitcase or green plastic, "I've got the damned case you wanted, Jim. Why this couldn't wait another hour is... What the hell's he doin' here?" An accusing finger jutted out at the Vulcan in the middle.

Jim shrugged, humming pleasantly. "Oh, Bones, I'm not sure if you've officially met Sarek yet. Bones, Sarek; Sarek, Bones. Ah, he's here to tell me that he has to leave now because of some business meeting, and he can't take Spock with him."

The handle of the plastic case clattered to the floor with a thunk. "Bullshit."

"I will come back." Sarek promised. "Spock and I can still make this trip."

Red had stretched across McCoy's face and neck and into his eyes until the whole world appeared crimson. His voice, however, remained dangerously calm. "Maybe he can join up with ya after this meeting thing?"

Sarek's eyes darted to the side. "I fear that might not be possible, either. Normally, these larger delegations lead to others in rapid succession. My time with Spock would be greatly severed, and-"

"_Bullshit_." McCoy spat again. "Spock's not a damned coat you hang up in the closet and take down when it suits you. His life goes on, whether you're there or not. Spock's not supposed to be there for you, you're supposed to be there for him!"

"You are one to talk, Doctor McCoy." Sarek spoke harshly. "I am aware that you have a daughter, yet are divorced."

"I stayed married to my wife for almost twenty-five years. My daughter is twenty-two. I was there anytime my Jo needed me, and I still am even though she's a full grown adult in pursuit of her own family and career." McCoy bit every word. "You're going to fucking walk out again, just like you did the last time."

Sarek turned his back to the seething doctor, turning pleadingly to Kirk. "Captain, I only ask that you tell Spock for me yourself. It would come as much gentler a blow if someone he trusted and admired spoke in my case."

Horror flashed through black, Vulcan eyes as Jim slowly shook his head, voice low and flat. "I'm not going to do your dirty work for you, Sarek. You'll just have to tell Spock on your own why you left him behind this time."

Anger replaced horror, and determination the anger. "Very well." Sarek snapped, quickly retreating towards the door and pushing past the doctor obscuring his way. "I will call Spock from the shuttlecraft, or perhaps the next starship-"

His voice broke off harshly as the fresher room door slid open. "Captain," it started, "I do not wish to appear rude, but I must insist that I- Father?" The tall figure in the doorway, his small travel case slung over his arm, paused. "I thought-"

"Spock." Sarek froze, quickly recovering and extending a hand towards the younger Vulcan. "Son. Come here, please."

Spock blinked, stepping out of the bathroom just enough for the door to close. "Father, I do not understand. I had thought we were leaving tomorrow."

"That is why I am here now." Sarek's voice and lowered to a gentleness used mainly on small children to explain why their puppy, which had previously been run over by a car, wasn't coming back. "Son, I was going to explain it to you, but I was first telling your Captain in greater details that our trip will have to be postponed."

Jim waited for some kind of sign to pass over Spock's face. Some flicker of disappointment, a scowl of anger, clenching of fists, anything at all. Instead, Spock remained still, head lowering. "I see."

"Important business has come up." Sarek continued on. "Spock, I would take you if I could. Please understand."

"I understand." A computer could not have spoken more blandly.

"It is most... unfortunate that this has come up." Sarek stated slowly, trying to read his son and coming up as blank as everyone else in the room.

Spock gave a single nod, eyes trained firmly on the ground. "Indeed."

"Spock." Sarek called gently, the Vulcan lifting his head out of reflex. "This is not good-bye."

The Adam's apple in Spock's throat moved once as he swallowed. "Good-bye, Sarek."

It was done. What he had come to accomplish had been completed, just not in the way he had hoped. Sarek sighed, lifting his hand in the _ta'al_. "Good-bye, son."

The door that Sarek had been trying to run out of, barred by Dr. McCoy, opened as Sarek skulked away. The door closed, not a soul daring to breathe once the lock immediately reignited. A material rustle rubbed down Spock's body as the shoulder strap from his bag fell off of his arm, the entire case falling to the floor with a bang and the metallic clink of a _kal-toh_ set. The hand that had steadied the strap fell to his side, hanging as limply as his head did on his neck.

Jim spared Bones the briefest of glances before unfurling his hands, taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Spock."

"No." the Vulcan shook his hanging head. "It is alright. Actually," Spock huffed as if embarrassed at his admittance, "this all works out better, this way. I had wondered how a trip that long would affect my work. I would become sorely behind."

McCoy swallowed audibly. "Spock, it's okay to be angry."

Spock wagged his head again, breathing picking up. "Anger is an emotion. Besides, why should I feel anger? At least he said 'good-bye' this time. I only wish I had not collapsed the _kal-toh_. It took so long to set up the first time, I do not think I will be able to reset it again..."

As the Vulcan's voice trailed off, Jim tried to bring his up. "I'm so sorry, Spock. If-if there was something I could do-"

"You do not have to do anything." Spock snapped. "Either of you. It is not as if I am five years old any longer, understand? It is not as if I am going to sit up in bed every night, asking mother 'When is father returning home?' I do not need him. I may not be able to set up an idiotic _kal-toh_ contraption, but I taught myself basic logic and meditation, all that a true Vulcan needs. I am as good as any full-blooded Vulcan. Am I not?"

McCoy remained silent, eyes closed and head down. Jim tried to smile, tried to do something, and nodded. "Yeah, you are." his voice was breathy and trembling.

Spock's was strong, sporadic, and gaining volume. "I entered my first courtship without him, and I went through my first break-up without him. I learned how to drive and work. I learned how to fight without him. I witnessed the destruction of my own planet without him, I watched my mother die... All without him. I have made a life for myself. I have had nineteen _great_ years without him, and I got myself through any trials that rose up - To hell with him!" Spock shouted, making Bones jump and Jim tense. His head slumped forward again, weaving lightly on his feet. "I did not need him then, and I do not need him now."

"Spock..." Jim reached forward, withdrawing in fear contact would only make things worse. "Spock-"

"No." Spock cut him off once more, voice raising again as he pointed towards the closed door Sarek had retreated from. "Do you know what I am going to do, Jim? What I _don't_ need _him_ for? I do not need him to finish my five-year mission. I am going to finish _my_ mission, I am going to bond and marry whomever _I_ desire. She'll be a beautiful woman, strong and compassionate like my mother. And-And I'm going to have as many children as I can. I'm going to be a better father than _he_ ever was!" Spock's breathing was hitched and gasped now, breaking up his words and trembling his voice. "I do not need _him_ to do that, because there isn't a _damn_ thing he can ever teach me about how to _love _my kids!"

Spock slumped forward, his entire body becoming limp as he weaved on his feet, even his halted breaths falling silent. McCoy looked up, blinking sharply and his face streaked on both sides. Jim could feel himself trembling, numb to everything else.

His breath hitched once, Spock's voice nothing nor than a choked whisper. "Why doesn't he want me?"

"Spock-" Jim started, cut off as McCoy stepped forward, grabbing the Vulcan by the shoulder and wrapping his arms around him.

Spock choked again, body shaking, breaths heaving, sobbing quietly yet deeply all the anguish he had withheld for nearly twenty years. McCoy held him tightly, as tightly as a devoted father should his distraught child, stroking with one hand the shiny black hair buried in his neck and hushing him softly. Jim put a hand to the bottom half of his face, curling his fingers under his chin and over his mouth, blinking against the single tear that had slipped by unnoticed.

On the floor next to Spock's feet inside the bag, the _kal-tol_ set lay on its side, the thin _t'an_ rods snapped and shattered beyond fix, like the bond that curled about like a frayed, fritzing wire in the back of Spock's mind.

* * *

><p><span>Author's Note - That was... most heartwarming. I cannot write anything happy, it seems. This is the third trial of one-shots I have been trying to write, to get the plot-bunnies out of my head so I can return to 'It's Over'. The first one was supposed to be some funny Spock-electrocution story, where his hand was either electrically zapped or hit sharply and, McCoy, knew the human equivalent of Vulcan hands, is all 'Oh, shake it off, man, shake it off." (Vulcan hands=Human male genitals. XD) Instead... it turned into a McCoy character study developing into xenopolycinthema story. I stopped after ten pages.<span>

The second was supposed to be a lighthearted Spock-centric story about what its like to be an introvert. Instead, it turned into a slutbunny!Uhura sleeping around and cheating on Spock with McCoy, and then McCoy was booted for Scotty, and I stopped after ten or so pages.

This idea came from a 'Fresh Prince of Bel-Air' episode called 'Papa's Got a New Excuse.'I don't know why I like asshat!Sarek so much. I mean, he wasn't all that bad in the original series and The Search for Spock, but still... he always seems to lacking as a father character. Never there, 18 year grudge, lying to his son ("I married your mother because it was the logical thing to do." LIAR!) It's just so easy to make him a bad guy, and that episode just made me think of Spock for some reason... even if Jim Kirk is more like Will than Spock is. With the sarcasm and the womanizing and the jokes - it's all a facade, like Jim... This just worked better, I thought.

Kal-toh is a game in Star Trek: Voyager series (which I have not seen, yet). To anyone who has seen Voyager, I know the game was holographic, but ST-2009/ST-TOS doesn't really have much holograms. (Excluding the Animated episode where the computer had a nervous breakdown.) Sarek's explenation and some of the wording there comes from the episode, which I found on Memory Alpha dot com. Spock's breakdown at the end comes from Will's speech after his father Lou walked out again, taken from both the show and quotes on IMBD dot com.

Memory Alpha also claims that, in a deleted scene from 'Journey to Babel (TOS)', Sarek trained to be an astrophysics before becoming Ambassador.

Spock may seem a little OOC, but remember that Sarek wasn't there to push him in the Vulcan way.

Ten Forward is taken from Star Trek: The Next Generation, the name of the tenth level, front side of the ship where a restaurant kind of thing went on. The names of Angela and Robert are from the episode where Spock and Kirk meet Romulans for the first time (and the head honcho Romulan looks suspiciously like Sarek...) 'Dagger of the Mind', maybe? 'Realm of Terror?'

I do not own Star Trek of any generation, nor Fresh Prince.


End file.
